Playing House
by kepulver
Summary: LowLight, Daina and Adams on a training mission of sorts


**Author's note:** Scene inspired by a similar scene in _Inside Delta Force: The Story of America's Elite Counterterrorist Unit _by Eric L. Haney. The situation is real, I just took the idea and ran with it to make it my own Joe story (just like Hama!). Any technical errors are purely mine own.

**Standard Disclaimer: **GI Joe and all characters mentioned (except for Karen) are property of Hasbro and licensed by Devil's Due. Karen, for whatever it's worth, I made her up. The baby too.

**Playing House:**

It was a room like any other room. An average everyday living room in Anytown, Suburbia, USA.

Except, of course, for the eight terrorists stationed at various positions around the room. They weren't exactly standard-issue WASP decor. They were nasty-looking bastards, the very picture of the Modern Terrorist Threat.

And Low-Light had been in their clutches for the better part of an hour. If they'd been real, rather than manakins and cardboard silhouttes, he probably wouldn't have lasted this long. Snipers were never popular guys even if they were on your side. Enemy snipers were about as popular as an unemployed alcoholic brother-in-law on the day you won the lottery. And considering how many targets he'd blown away in his time, Low-Light was probably first on the Manakin Liberation Front's Most Wanted List.

Even though the Shooting House exercise was a simulation, it was still nerve-wracking. The exercise was live-fire. When Adams and Daina came through the door, they'd be firing real bullets. The chance of being hit was a faint but always real possibility. And on top of that, he had to pretend to be a hostage. Meaning he couldn't move, couldn't attempt his own escape and worst of all he couldn't even smoke. Wouldn't do jack to save his ass, but at least it would give him something to do with his hands while he waited for his teammates to show up.

"Any day now guys," he muttered under his breath, casting a glance toward his captors, particularly the one crouched next to him, a .45 pressed against the side of his head.

He sighed heavily. No matter how often you prepared for something like this, it was never easy to be the one in the hot-seat. It wasn't the threat of death so much; he'd faced that often enough to be almost used to it.

'Course, that was before he was going to be a father. Karen was less than a month from her due date. He was staring down the barrel of fatherhood and unlike the terrorist's .45 it wasn't something he could escape from. Not that he wanted to...except for sometimes. Like, on alternate days ending in 'y'. He felt sweat start to trickle down the back of his neck at the thought. He pushed his thoughts away, shifting in his seat. "C'mon, c'mon," he growled.

A radio in the room crackled to life. "I have control -- stand by. Five...four...three...two...one...Execute! Execute! Execute!"

The door to the room blasted open, Low-Light saw Paige Adams dart into the room and immediately move left, toward the side of the room with the most terrrorists - the heavy side of the room. As she moved, she tossed something small into the air. Low-Light threw an arm up over his eyes as the flash-bang detonated, filling the room with a blinding light and a sound so loud it felt like being squeezed in God's fist. It was followed by the sound of gunshots as Adams began shooting terrorists.

He heard rather than saw Adams shooting in his direction, feeling the pressure as the bullet hit the terrorist next to him.

Dropping his arm, Low-Light saw Daina was already in the room, moving right and firing as she walked. As she moved, she fired; her movements as fluid as any dancer. He glanced toward Adams who was tearing through her remaining targets with equal grace and speed. Coming to a corner of the room, she stopped, surveying the room.

"Search," she snapped out as she reloaded.

Daina nodded, turning and moving carefully from terrorist to terrorist, checking for signs of life. Adams moved as Daina did, covering the other woman. When she finished, she had moved back into her position and nodded to Adams.

"Cover me," Adams said and the two switched positions, Adams checking terrorists as Daina covered her in turn. Once Adams verified the terrorists were down and truly out she pulled out her radio.

"Room's clear," she said. "Tangos are down. Not a single member of the Plastic People's Party has survived the encounter."

"That's Manakin Liberation Front," Low-Light said. "Geeze, Adams do you read the briefings we get or you just color on 'em?"

"Hey, if you'd flipped the page over, McBride, you'd have seen that the Plastic People's Party is a radical splinter group connected to the MLF." Adams smirked back at him. "Real desperate bastards, how else d'you explain them kidnapping your sorry ass?"

Low-Light snorted, reaching over to pick up the head of the manakin that had been 'guarding' him as Beachhead stepped into the room, carrying a clipboard and wearing his usual instructor scowl.

"Hey, Beach, how'd we do?" Adams asked.

Beachhead stalked through the room. "Won't know till I review the tape," he said, looking over the manakins and targets. Then, grudgingly added: "But, so far, the three of you got the fastest times of any team we've run through here. Y'all work well together."

"Yeah, well, all it takes is faith, trust and a complete and utter lack of respect for human life," Adams said.

Low-Light stood up, tossing the head to Paige. "Here, you can mount this on your wall."

Paige caught the plastic head, or more correctly what was left of the plastic head and grinned back. "Screw that, he's going on the front of my car."

Low-Light snickered as Daina chuckled. Beachhead looked at the three of them, scowl deepening. "Y'all are nuts," he said.

"Not true, not true!" said Daina. "According to Psyche-Out we all fall within acceptable limits of behavior! We are skilled, self-reliant, confident individuals!"

"Who scare the living hell out of him," said Low-Light.

"Damn straight," said Paige. "So, Daina you want to go next in the hot-seat or we doing the ippy-dippy for it?"

"No, no ippy-dippy," said Daina, crossing her arms over her chest. "You cheat. Is Rock-Paper-Scissors or nothing."

Paige Adams shook her head. "No way! You always choose rock and McBride makes up crap like "irradiated cockroach."

Low-Light made a fist and stuck out two fingers, wiggling them like feelers. "Irradiated Cockroach wins all," he declared, solemnly.

"Yeah? We'll see how Irradiated Cockroach does against Big Stompy Boot Up McBride's Backside," Adams said, lifting one foot threateningly.

"Rock crushes Irradiated Cockroach and gets inside Big STompy Boot and wins all!" yelled Daina, holding up a fist in the Czech Power Salute.

"Alright, take the comedy on the road, ladies!" Beachhead barked as he began to herd the three of them out. "We've got to set up for the next run!"

"You heard him girls," Low-Light lisped, fluffing at the hair sticking out from the back and sides of his stocking cap. "I don't know about you guys, but I've got to take a positively wicked piss!"

Beachhead watched as they walked out laughing arm-in-arm. "Snipers," he muttered.


End file.
